Tourniquet
by Basorexxia
Summary: While I was somewhat satisfied with the ending to GS, I just had to do this;; Sam didn't die. Infected, he seeks out Brigitte, in an effort to save both her and himself. Officially a multiple chapter story, thanks to people who reviewed! Sam/Brigitte
1. I : Will

_"...This truth drives me_  
_ Into madness_  
_ I know I can stop the pain_  
_ If I will it all away..."  
-"Whisper" Evanescence_

_

* * *

_

"My fault… my fault. This is all my fault… God, I'm so sorry Ginger…" a soft voice was issued from the young girl draped across the wolf-like creature's corpse. Brigitte's dark hair fell across her face, obscuring the tears that ran down her cheeks. She was right, it had been all her fault from the very beginning — had she not suggested that Ginger and her steal Trina's dog and make it look like it had been killed by the Beast of Bailey Downs, then they would not have been wandering around in the woods at night, and Ginger would not have been attacked by the werewolf. Going back a little more, if Brigitte had not suggested Trina as a Search and Destroy victim, her little lackey might have heard her and Trina would have pushed her into the poor dog's mangled corpse, angering Ginger.

If she had not, those were the magic words.

Sniffling loudly, Brigitte finally straightened and pushed back her hair with a blood-stained hand — Sam's blood. She flinched back from her own limb as she realized this and stared at the stained hand. Sam's death was her fault as well, if she had not gone to him for help… if she would have exited the closet, not him, there was the very big possibility that he would still be alive.

"Fuck!" she shouted, shaking as she stumbled to her feet. Unsteady legs threatening to buckle as she made her way to the door. She had to leave, and soon. If she stayed, she would be in deep shit — deeper than she already was. What with her mother still out, due to come home any minute to see the corpse of a young man strewn about in the hallway and the body of her transformed sister in the bedroom, impaled with a knife instead of the cure that was meant for her.

"Fuck!" Brigitte screamed again, squeezing the syringe slightly, her hand screaming out in pain as the edge of the plastic dug into the cut she had made not a few hours ago.

When Ginge was still alive.

Brigitte knew she was now infected, and refused to drop the Monkshood, her only chance to be cured. Besides, it was the only this she had left of Sam. 'Be careful' she had said to him when he made his way out of the closet, those were her last words to him.

"Be fucking careful! You couldn't listen to me? I trusted you would be alright, you seemed so sure… Sam…" she whimpered. She knew she was having a breakdown of some sort — probably a mental one, but wouldn't anyone? After what she had just gone through, she believed she had the right. Reaching for the doorknob, she halted as she realized that it was jiggling by itself. No… not by itself, but by someone on the other side of the door. Gasping, Brigitte nimbly ran and ducked beneath Ginger's bed, thanking God that she was skinny enough to fit and vaguely wondering where that burst of energy had come from.

"Jesus."

That one word made Brigitte want to scream. Well, maybe it wasn't the word, per se, but the voice that said it. The girl's eyes followed the new set of feet that stepped into the room, watching as they stopped in front of Ginger's body. The person's pants were blackened by blood, what little light there was made them glisten wetly.

"Brigitte? Are you in here?"

Sure she was, and she wanted to cry at the moment. She was unsure whether to burst out from underneath the bed crying, or pop off the mattress above her and yell out 'surprise!' in a cheap attempt at humor. She tightened her already tight grip on the syringe and once again, grimaced in pain. That was proof enough that she was awake, that this wasn't just some horrible nightmare and that she wasn't going to wake up to find Ginger making caustic remarks at her about being able to sleep anywhere, despite the circumstances.

"S-Sam, is that you?" her voice came out raspy, sounding like a person who had not used her voice in a very long time. Swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the ache in her throat, she watched as the feet turned in the direction of the bed and rushed over in a way that seemed too healthy for the young man who was supposedly killed not twenty minutes ago. A knee was lowered to the ground and a face slid into view — a face that was all too familiar.

"Brigitte! What are you doing under there?" a worried look was now placed upon his handsome face, but something was off about it. Brigitte did not respond to his inquiry, but instead studied him blankly, he was still covered in blood, she noticed. His own blood, the blood that was let out when he was attacked and killed by Ginger.

"Brigitte. Fucking answer me, say something for God's sake!" his tone turned sharp, with an underlying note of pleading that Brigitte could make out and could not ignore. Taking care not to drop the Monkshood, she carefully inched out from underneath the bed, vaguely noticing Sam moving back from it to give her space.

"Are you really here?" the girl whispered as she came to a stop in front of him, kneeling with her hands on her lap. Tears began to leak out of her eyes again as she fixed him with a dead stare. Sam nodded, taking her hand — the one free of the syringe — and placing it against his neck, so she could feel his pulse throbbing steadily. What she noticed was not the beat of his heart, nor the unsettling warmth of the blood still on his skin, but the holes littered at the base of his neck. Pulling her hand away, she screamed, only to be silenced by Sam's hand, placed firmly — but softly — against Brigitte's lips. The metallic taste of Sam's blood entered her mouth and reminded her of her failed attempted to appease Ginger by drinking his blood — an attempt that didn't even seem to be needed now that Same was sitting in front of her, his hand on her mouth.

"Bee, it's okay. Just calm down." he spoke soothingly, but his words didn't seem to have the desired effect as he felt her stiffen. She pushed his hand aside roughly, her dark eyes glimmering with something alike to rage, but the effort didn't seem to be quite there.

"Don't. Call. Me. That." Brigitte hissed, averting her gaze down to the corpse of the beast. Sam made the connection and nodded apologetically, taking her free hand once more and placing it against his lips gently. Now he was just taking advantage of the fact that she had a bit of a crush on him — he had realized this after he brushed off what Ginger had said that once time at the greenhouse, he said something about him 'not being interested in her like that.' Her reaction had said everything — The soft feeling of Sam's lips made the girl look up in shock.

"Brigitte, we have to go alright? We can't stay here any longer, people are bound to come investigate after the noise we just made."

"I-I can't! I can't leave her, I can't leave Ginger." The realization that she would have to leave her sister seemed to have made Brigitte dissolve into sobs again as she attempted to pull free from Sam and go back to mourning her sister, but Sam held tight.

"No Brigitte, she's gone. You can't stay with her because she's not even fucking here anymore! Let's just go," he had said it harsher than he meant to, but he had to get her moving somehow. With a small effort, he hauled both him and Brigitte to their feet, not waiting for her to give him another excuse to not go. To his surprise, she didn't struggle and instead followed him mutely, tears still making their way down her face.

"You're infected." The slight girl said this as a statement, not a question, as she slid into Sam's van. There was no other explanation, he was there, alive and breathing. His wounds were very nearly healed, even though they should have been fatal, and he seemed to be in better condition now than when this whole mess started — not to mention his broken arm was no longer broken.

"Yeah. I'm infected." He gave a small nod as he pulled away from Brigitte's house, he took a small bit of joy from this fact because if he were not infected, he would be dead. Instead, he was here with Brigitte. Shifting in her seat, she reached inside of her coat and got out a small bundle of plants from within, the dried purple buds giving off a slight, bitter fragrance.

"Good thing I got the Monkshood then," the young girl's mouth turned up a little at the corners, contorting her pretty face into a bitter smile, her eyes still shining with unshed tears as the van made it's way down the empty street.


	2. II : Hell

_"When you close your eyes, is it hell you see?" _  
_~Ghost, GS:Unleashed_

* * *

The ride was mostly silent, though it was not an uncomfortable silence — merely one of mutual agreement. Brigitte did not ask where Sam was taking them, she trusted him as much as she could possibly trust a person, possibly as much as she had trusted Ginger. Biting her lower lip gingerly, she wondered if her faith was not entirely misplaced — her trust in him was broken once before, when he had promised to be careful. Her grip on the Monkshood visibly tightened.

The movement was not lost on Sam, his eyes slid from the road to her small pale hands in her lap, the grip she had on those flowers seemed deathly — it looked like she was about to break the stalks. _I wonder what she's thinking about._ He thought as his own grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles turning white with anxiousness and increasing nerves. The silence shifted from a comfortable one, to a nervous one, the sparks of anxiety traveling in the confined space between them.

"Where are we going?" The young girl asked, finally releasing both the tension building up within her and the death grip she had on the plant, her right hand shifting to the side of her face and the other to the side of her upper leg, where her fingers began a nervous pattern as she thrummed them.

"A motel." Sam spoke softly, wishing he could do the same with his hands, if they were not burdened by the task of driving them to their destination.

"Oh. What are we going to do from there?" She knew that he had no more of an idea that she did, but she couldn't stand the silence any longer. The young man knew what she was doing, and appreciated it on a certain level — the rest of him was slightly irritated by the fact that she expected him to have all the answers. He shook his head wordlessly, his hands sliding down in position on the wheel.

"So you don't know?" Brigitte probed, wanting him to answer her — to start a conversation, no matter how pointless or forced it was. She just wanted _something_ from him, his voice, his attention, anything. Her left hand shifted back to the Monkshood in her lap, she began to fidget with the small buds lightly. _What is he thinking about?_ Glancing at Sam once, she returned her gaze to her window, watching the shapeless, bright blurs of the streetlights make streaks against the darkness of the night. It would be morning soon, a few hours, three at the most.

"No, I don't know Brigitte. Just as I'm sure you have no fucking idea either." he snapped softly, his eyes reflecting the lights with an odd coldness, the occasional stoplight making the blood on him glow strange colors. The girl winced at his tone, lowering her head to look at her lap. _I've made him mad… _she thought in desperation, her only company was already sick of her.

Sam glanced at her and frowned at the fact that he seemed to have upset her, while his tone was a bit harsh, he had expected Brigitte to withstand it — not simper like a kicked puppy.

_She just lost her sister, idiot. _He reminded himself, running a hand over his face, grimacing at the feel of dried blood on his face. He was lost now, not exactly sure what he should say or do. He was about to speak when he turned in the parking lot of the motel, the blinking sign that read _Goodnight Motel_ missing more than a few letters, so it's title now read, _Godnigh Moel_.

"I'll go Sam," her voice was soft and sudden, yet it did not hold that element of hurt he was dreading to hear. Maybe more like… _Resignation?_ "I'm not covered in blood, so it'll draw less suspicion."

"A-alright, I'll wait here then." The young man was still a bit jarred from Brigitte's tone of voice, and the stutter caused Brigitte to give him a curious look before opening the door and sliding out of the passenger seat. She slammed the door a little harder than she probably should have, but she very much doubted that Sam would care under these circumstances. _Unless he's one of those car freaks that care about his ride than anything else._ Grimacing at the revolting thought, she looked back at the van and saw that it still had it's very deep dent from where he had run over the werewolf that had started this whole nightmare, the one that had attacked Ginger.

_Ginge._ A deep feeling of grief overtook the girl as she pushed open the door and faced the sleeping innkeeper, a balding man of about forty who was currently drooling on the guestbook. Bee's grimace deepened considerably, she cleared her throat loudly in an attempt to wake him up — succeeding in only slightly stir him, his response only a sharp snore that made the girl's lip curl in disgust. Sighing, she went up and rang the bell, conveniently right by his face, and it gave her a strange sense of satisfaction to see him shoot up in his chair in a disgruntled daze.

"Whozzat?" he mumbled, trying to focus his bleary, sleep-riddled eyes on the young girl in front of him.

"I'm here to rent a room," was Brigitte's only answer, waiting for him to regain his composure.

"Hm? Ah, right. Here," he cleared his throat and pushed the guestbook towards her, trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes as he looked for a key to give her. Purposely avoiding the drool, she signed her only her first name, hoping that the man would be to sleep addled to realize that she put no last name.

"How big miss?" his voice was still a little slurred, sleep beckoning to him once more as he looked back at the girl.

"Moderate."

He handed her a key wordlessly, and didn't bother to watch her walk away as he shifted back into his sort-of comfortable position, complete with the guestbook under his face.

_-----BREAK-----_

So maybe Sam had winced slightly when the passenger door was closed with a bit more force than what was necessary. He couldn't help it, it was just the guy in him. He watched silently as the girl moved towards the Motel's front doors before stopping and looking back once, her gaze not on him but on his van. Sam's handsome features pulled into a frown as she turned away and walked with a bit more of a hunch than she had walked with previously.

He couldn't really make out the two people in the lobby clearly — the glass was quite dirty — but he could see Brigitte and the man he presumed was the innkeeper give her a small glinting object. _Score._ He thought and grinned as Brigitte emerged from the lobby, the key in her hand as she got in the van, closing the door gingerly this time.

"Room… 254, it looks like," She said, looking at the small tag on the key. Sam nodded, driving in the large lot until he came across the room, it was on the second floor, but it looked like the rooms around it were empty. Brigitte let her eyes wander across the dingy motel before she got out of the van again, it was perfect…ish. No one would look for her here — not for a while at least. Sam got out close behind her, wanting more than anything to take a shower and get cleaned off, the blood on him disgusted him — regardless of the fact that it was his own blood.

Brigitte practically ran up the stairs, Sam close at her heels, and unlocked the chipped, wood door. The motel room was no better than your typical motel room, maybe a bit cleaner, but everything else was the same. Nondescript pale yellow paint covered the walls, a forest green lining across the middle where they were interrupted by the dull lamps perched on them. The beds were covered in clean white bedspreads, fairly big for a motel room, but then again, it seemed like he had accidentally given her the biggest size. Sighing, she looked at Sam with a tired expression and sat on the one the beds.

"I'm going to go get cleaned up," Sam said as he made his way to the bathrooms, eager as a small child on his way for ice cream. Giving him a small smile and a nod, she started to shed some of her more unnecessary clothes — her large jacket, her baggy hoodie, her tights, and her shirt. Clad in her undershirt and a pair of shorts she always wore under her skirts, she climbed into bed, exhausted.

She listened to the steady thrumming of the water hitting tile as Sam took a shower — she wondered vaguely what he was going to wear, since all of his clothes were bloodstained — she soon closed her eyes.

Peaceful sleep evaded her.

Flashing images of half-transformed werewolves filled her dreams, the cracking of elongating spines filling her ears and the taste of blood on her tongue.

It was her own personal hell.

"_Not hell Bee, far from it. It's your future. It's not so bad, trust me. You'll love it after a while…" _

Ginger's disembodied voice echoed through her mind and made her hell that much worse.

* * *

**A|N;;** Wow, I honestly never expected so many people to actually read this and take the time to review!  
Thank you so much to **o0FLAM3S0o, VampireLoverForever27, rusted,** and **MOMO1989** for taking the time to review and inspiring me to continue with this story. Of course, much thanks to those who favorited and added alerts to this story, but reviews tell me how much you _really_ like this story. (hinthint ;D)  
Constructive criticisms are loved, they help me improve, who wouldn't love that? and compliments are like fuel to my fire, so go nuts with the reviews~  
Oh, before I forget, because I always do...  
**DISCLAMER**: I am not the amazing, gruesome masterminds behind Ginger Snaps, that would be Karen Walton and Megan Martin, cheers! :D


	3. III : Spectre

_"I look for ghosts; but none will force _

_Their way to me. 'Tis falsely said _

_That there was ever intercourse_

_Between the living and the dead."_

-William Wordsworth_  
_

* * *

Right. Left. Right. Left. Stomach. Right. Back.

Those were the movements that came from Brigitte's slender body as her fitful sleep extended through the dark hours of the night. After Sam had taken his much-awaited shower, he had put on his boxers — thankfully free of blood, though he couldn't really say the same for the rest of his clothes — and made his way to his bed. Having sat down on the edge, he stared at the young girl who occupied the bed opposite his, and focused on her unnecessary movements. He was still filled with unwanted adrenaline — plus something else he couldn't quite identify, which he automatically connected to the newfound furry gene within him — so he couldn't sleep. Bee, on the other hand, didn't seem to have a problem sleeping, though sleeping soundly was another matter completely.

Sighing softly, expelling the breathe through his nostrils instead of through his mouth, he stretched himself out on the hard, uncomfortable bed. Though being clean did make the situation a bit more bearable, he missed his own bed and his house. Rolling over, facing the ugly wall instead of Brigitte, the last thought that crossed his mind was the realization that he'd do absolutely anything for a cigarette right at that moment.

* * *

"_Bee. Oh Bee, don't be so scared Bee… We'll be together soon, we promised. Don't forget, don't you dare!"_

Ginger's angry voice echoed through her broken, disgusting dreams and Brigitte shot upright in her bed. Skin clammy, pale as a ghost and feeling ill, she looked around, disoriented. For a few minutes, she could remember nothing of the previous night — and when it came back, it hit her like a truck full of horrible images, full of things she would much rather forget. Ginge was dead, Brigitte couldn't save her, she had failed, her promise broken. Still feeling ill and empty, she quietly got up, remembering that Sam was sleeping not ten feet away from her, and padded towards the bathroom.

Closing the door behind her and locking it promptly, Brigitte immediately slumped against the sink, taking in her pale countenance with a familiar feeling of disgust. She had always wanted her sister's beauty, for Ginger had been the beautiful one of the two — the one who attracted the boys, whether she had wanted them or not. Now she was dead, no more skirt-chasers after her now.

"_Oh, don't be so damn morbid Bee. I'm right here, calm the fuck down." _

The sound of Ginger's voice came from right behind her, and she could swear that she could even feel the soft touch of breath against her ear. Saying that the girl screamed bloody murder would be an understatement. Spinning in place, Bee came face-to-face with the person she wanted to see most — and least — in the entire world. Her red hair was as shiny and lustrous as it had been in life, eyes flashing with a mixture of hatred and bitterness, Ginger gave her little sister a mocking smile that contorted her beautiful face into something ugly, something that only belonged in nightmares.

"_What's the matter sis? Weren't you mourning me just a second ago? You're supposed to be happy to see me!"_

Her voice sounded all too real as well, nothing ethereal or other-worldly about it — just a clear tone of sarcasm and bitterness that seemed to belong in her voice. The younger sister was too busy cowering against the sink to say anything to the apparition, too confused and frightened to see Ginger standing right in front of her, her arms crossed, looking annoyed at her like she always used to do. Brigitte unconsciously brought her thin arms in front of her, wrapping them around herself, in a subconscious attempt to shield herself against this… thing, that surely took her sister's form. Her stomach lurched, threatening to empty her stomach — even though she had nothing to throw up in the first place.

"Get the fuck out," Brigitte's voice was stronger than she had expected. She was never the brave one, but it seems that things were no longer what they always were. She had done things that she never thought she could do, she killed her own sister in order to save her own life.

"_Don't be stupid. I'm not going anywhere, you can't live without me Bee. You always __**were**__ the follower."_

Ginger scathingly replied, anger lingering right beneath the fake calmness of her voice. Brigitte winced, her dark hair falling from her ear with the slight movement and settling partially on her face. Eyes wide and wild, she looked around the bathroom for something to defend herself with. Finding nothing, she returned her attention to Ginge's smirking face. She raised her eyebrows mockingly and shrugged, the horrible smile returning to her face at Brigitte's sickened expression.

"I-I killed you. You can't be h-here," the brunette whispered harshly, her arms still wrapped tightly around herself. Her sister opened her mouth to reply when a sudden loud banging from the other side of the door seemed to startle both of them.

"Brigitte! Brigitte! Are you alright? Open the fucking door! Goddammit!" Sam's voice was a relief to hear and the brunette visibly slumped with relief at the familiar sound — it was twice now that he had saved her.

"_Oh… Is that Sam? Is he still after you? I thought I had taken care of that asshole. Damn cherry-hound. You should know better than that Bee, you should find someone else." _

While it sounded like warm, sisterly advice, Brigitte could hear something more sinister dwelling within the words of her beloved, dead sister. In a blind panic, her eyes filling with tears, she unlocked and yanked open the door, expecting the worse. What she found instead was a very concerned Sam, his hands immediately clamped onto her upper arms hard — perhaps a little harder than what was necessary.

"Brigitte! Oh God, are you okay?" Forehead furrowed, eyes narrowed, Sam was the perfect image of someone genuinely worried out of their mind. Gulping for air, the young girl nodded as the tears rolled down her face. "No, you're not. Don't lie to me for God sakes," he murmured as he hugged her gently. The aspect of losing the only person who understood him and could help him terrified him more than he could ever describe — or even think about. When he had heard Brigitte screaming, it made his heart literally stop and his breathing speed up. He thought he had been attacked or something in the bathroom — and when he found that the door was locked, well, that's when he officially flipped his shit.

Brigitte was sobbing into Sam's chest, which was blatantly bare but she was too distraught and scared to think about it now though, all she could do was just keep crying.

"What the hell happened in there?" He demanded, pulling Brigitte away from him reluctantly, taking in her wild, frightened eyes and fearful expression. It made him want to pull her close again, just so he could comfort her, but he resisted, wanting answers instead.

"G-Ginger… S-she was in th-there wi-with me!" the brunette stammered in between sobs, pointing her finger back at the bathroom frantically, which was still brightly lit up with the fluorescent lights within, revealing an uncharacteristically white, cleanliness unexpected of a motel.

Sam looked at her with a raised eyebrow, his handsome face twisted into a mask of disbelief. "In there. With you." there was no question, no upward tilt of the voice to signify an inquiry, just a flat statement. He continued, "Brigitte, Ginger's dead."

It was the wrong thing to say, he realized too late, as the girl's head sharply turned to him — eyes steely and lips pursed tightly, despite the tears still making clear rivulets down her pale face.

"I-I know she's dead Sam, I'm not stupid. I'm the o-one who kill-killed her. But I'm t-telling you, she was there! S-she was… Mo-mocking me… It was a-all so… _familiar_ Sam, like she was s-still alive…" she trailed off, her voice losing it's edge and her eyes dulling as she spoke. She wasn't even sure if what she had seen had been real, or maybe she was just going psychotic. It wouldn't be surprising, considering how much shit she had been through. But then again, Sam's been through the same shit — and a little more, even — and he wasn't suddenly seeing dead relatives popping up everywhere. Sniffing loudly and looking away from Sam's worried and pitying gaze, she felt ashamed of herself.

"I think… I think it's been a long night and you need some sleep, Brigitte. Come on, get back into bed," Sam gently took her by her left forearm gently and led her back to her bed, sitting her down promptly by pushing down lightly on her small shoulders. "Goodnight, Bee."

The brunette registered the familiar nickname, and it sent a twinge of pain through her heart, but she honestly could not find the energy to snap at him about it again — oddly, she actually did not mind it much at all.

"'Night Sam, th-thanks." She whispered, hoping that he had heard her small word of gratitude — which he had — and rolled over, listening as he settled back into his own bed. With that, the surviving sister fall back into a restless sleep, though this one was thankfully free of plaguing nightmares.

* * *

The light that came in through the half-opened shutters was what woke up the slender brunette — she wasn't much of a morning person to begin with, and the fact that a ray of sunshine was currently shining in her face wasn't putting her in any better mood. Letting out a sharp groan, she raised a hand to her face, shielding her eyes from the brutal assault that was the sun. Rolling over and opening her eyes, she noticed that Sam's bed was empty and that the air smelled… good.

"W-wha-?" she mumbled, her eyes still bleary and crusty — the fault of both sleep and tears that were shed several hours ago. Rubbing them clear, she took in the sight of a half-naked Sam, a white apron covering his chest and most of his boxers, standing in the kitchen, making what seemed like eggs.

"Good morning Bee." He turned and gave her a half-smile, making him look twice as handsome as he usually did and that with the fact that he was very much half-naked made Brigitte blush brightly, her shyness coming back three times as hard and crippling her temporarily as she tried to think up a suitable response.

"There's nothing good about it," Brigitte quipped, her voice drenched in obvious sarcasm. Pulling the covers off of herself, she sat up and yawned loudly, stretching as she did so. It felt like a regular morning, though she knew it was anything but.

"Don't be such a pessimist," Sam frowned as he tilted the pan and served up the eggs he had been cooking. Grinning as he took in the fact that they were perfect — the yolk intact and unbroken. He looked as if he regarded his sunny-side eggs as a work of art.

Brigitte scoffed as she ran a hand through her tangled dark hair, "You really shouldn't be one to talk," she mumbled, her shyness now gone, replaced by the feeling of morning irritation at everything in the world. She was sure that not even Sam's perfect eggs would cheer her up. Getting up and getting dressed, she instantly felt a little bit better — the layers of her clothes always gave her a feeling of protection. How Sam could be comfortable half-naked was beyond her.

Sam gave her a mock hurt look, his lips pursing in a slight pout as he put the pan back on the stove. "That wasn't very nice, Bee," placing his hands on his hips, his expression remained the same. Brigitte wasn't sure whether to laugh or blush again, instead she simply gave him an unimpressed look and waved her hand dismissively

"Shut up Sam, and where the hell are your clothes?" she asked him bluntly, her eyebrows rising with her question.

"Drying. I washed them this morning, they're hanging in the shower," he said as he put the plates on the table, setting them down loudly. The girl merely grunted acknowledgement as she sat down at the table.

"Thanks for making breakfast," she mumbled as she brought a forkful of egg to her mouth. She couldn't believe she was having such a normal conversation after such a horrifying night. She was thankful that Sam didn't bring up her lack of sanity either, it was merely that and it needed no further discussion.

"No problem," the young man said with a small smile as he ran a hand through his own brown hair. He felt nervous, though he hoped that Brigitte couldn't tell. He was scared that she was going to start seeing her dead sister again, it was nerve-wrecking, the thought that he only friend and only person who understood what had happened could potentially be insane. Biting his lip, he sat down himself and dug into his own food.

"I think it's time for the first dose of Monkshood. It's never too early," Brigitte whispered as she finished the last of her food, her hand reaching within the pockets of her jacket and taking out the syringe full of the cure. They would have to make more, of course, for both of them. They could share the same needle, for even if Sam, at one point, had anything contagious, it was gone now — the werewolf gene had exterminated it, and replaced it as the virus, the sickness to be fought.

"Good idea Bee," was Sam's only reply.

* * *

**Savi:** Wow, you guys! Thank you so much to everybody who reviewed~ And I am so sorry that I took so long to update, I would be lying if I said I didn't get a little lazy, and as soon as school started... well, things got a lot harder. But I promise to update much sooner and much more often from now on. In apology, I wrote a longer chapter this time. Reviews make me grin like a little kid on Christmas day, so make sure to leave them. I love them all — constructive criticisms, compliments, damn, even flames give me a good laugh. (: Next time, I'll mention each and every person who reviews, laziness just got the better of me today. I hoped you enjoyed the newest chapter! :D


	4. IV : Cured

_"I am not afraid to keep on living_  
_ I am not afraid to walk this world alone"  
-_"_Famous Last Words_" My Chemical Romance

* * *

They had been working at it for what seemed like hours, but in all reality was only about forty-five minutes. Brigitte sighed and blew roughly at a strand of hair that rested on the bridge of her nose, making it itch. After several unsuccessful attempts at getting rid of it, she raised a hand that smelled of flowers — more specifically, Monkshood — and pushed it away, tucking it behind her ear impatiently. In her other hand, she held a few stalks of Monkshood roughly while Sam worked on brewing the so-called cure. They didn't even know exactly how permanent this "cure" was, Bee only knew that it had worked on Jason McCardy, and even that was pure luck. She closed her eyes, remembering how confused he looked after she had accidentally impaled him with the needle after he had tried to attack her. He had been human again — but the sinking feeling in her gut told her that it was only temporary.

Sniffing slightly, she wiped off the sweat that formed across her forehead — though light, it was still uncomfortable — and took the full syringe in her pale hand. Watching Sam toil away at making the cure exhausted her as well, though she had done nothing besides give him the materials. The liquid bubbled on the stove, purple petals bouncing on the surface, they were making a full pot of it, to last them for a while. She pulled the sleeves of her hoodie back, revealing pale and slender arms, unmarked and beginning to show the effects of lycanthropy as the soft black hairs that had covered her arms were now glimmering a shining gold. She was taking the cure first, since she had been infected first, it was only logic.

"Bee, what are you doing?" Sam said, voice tinged by a now-familiar tone — a sort of impatient kindness — as he focused on adding a few more crushed Monkshood petals into the pot — he didn't even have to look over to know that Brigitte was up to something. Now fully clothed — something that Brigitte was grateful for, yet slightly disappointed about — he looked about ten times more confident than when he had been clad just in boxers. He reminded her of the first time they had met, officially that is, not when all Bee knew of him was that he was a drug dealer with a handsome face and that Trina Sinclair wanted to jump his bones — and probably had, she realized with a grimace. She still remembered that day, when they had run into each other — or rather, he came up to her since she looked suspicious, wandering around his truck — after Ginger had come out of the vehicle, Trina's dog had gone after the redhead, it's loud barking making Bee drop her papers. The photo that had jammed inside of the camera during the night of the attack was left on the ground, and Sam had picked it up. A week later was when he confronted her about the werewolf he had hit with his truck, and she had weaseled out of it without even giving her name. That was the start of a not-so-beautiful, yet wonderful, friendship.

"Bee!" Sam knocked her out of her memories and she looked at him, he was looking at her with deep concern. It was the same look he had given her last night, the young girl realized wearily, it was the same look full of pity, worry and somehow, fear. Sniffing loudly, she held out the syringe full of the cure that had been meant for her sister.

"I'm going to take the cure, what else?" she snipped, her voice full of sarcasm. Placing her arm on the kitchen counter, she got ready to place the needle deep within her arm, into the major vein that ran along the crook of her elbow — she could see it, as it was a pale, yet vibrant purple.

"Stop!" Sam, yanked the needle out of her hand before she could stick it in herself. "You're doing it wrong. You need to tie off the top of your arm, close to the elbow, just going into the upper arm," Brigitte had looked severely put off by the fact that Sam had just taken the needle, interrupting her, but what he was saying was making a lot of sense. Taking off his belt, Sam accidentally flashed her a glimpse of a toned stomach, making her blush lightly — as if she hadn't seen enough of that this morning, or last night for that matter. She felt a suddenly pressure on her arm that startled her, his belt was now wrapped around her upper arm tightly. Looking down, she saw that there was a defined bulge that ran along the crook of her arm — right next to the purple vein that she had been prepared to stab.

"Of course you would know about this stuff," she said shortly, taking the cure back. She had been referring to the fact that, he was indeed, a drug dealer. Of course he would know about tying off arms to show veins, it was perfect for such things like heroin. At this point though, she was just assuming, she had never seen him with anything else besides weed. She completely missed Sam's deeply hurt look as she looked back down at her arm, gently prodding the skin with the tip of the needle. "But thanks," she said before sticking it in sharply, not giving any chance for anything to change her mind.

What happened next both confused her and scared her.

One moment she had been standing next to Sam, leaning heavily against the counter, bracing herself for anything that might happen. The next moment, she was lying down on the ground, a familiar, disgusting warmth seeping running down her neck and seeping down into the back of her black shirt and hoodie. A coppery taste filled her mouth as she realized vaguely that she had bitten her tongue, it made her gag with both disgust and frustration as it clogged her throat. A ringing sound in her ears told her that there was something very loud coming from someplace — she didn't know that it was her own screaming that was deafening her, not allowing her to hear anything else, not even Sam shouting her name in a panic. Her breathing was ragged, short and sporadic. Closing her eyes in an automatic response to her agony, she felt something kind of soft being placed in her mouth, and a strong pair of arms lift her suddenly. The last thing she registered before blacking out was that her head gently lolled to the side, ending up against something very warm and comfortable.

* * *

Brigitte shifted slightly, feeling very achy and stiff, she was in some hard place. It was very uncomfortable and she could already feel her back and waist complain against the movement she was making. Finally opening her eyes, she noticed the blinding whiteness first — of course, how could see not, when it was attacking her eyeballs like that? As her eyes got used to the blinding white of her surroundings, she realized where she was — the bathtub. Groaning, she pulled herself into a sitting position, grimacing as she saw flakes of dried blood come off of her hair and onto the clean white tub. What the hell happened? Wincing, she turned at the waist to see the back of the bathtub, and upon doing so, her hand flew to the back of her head. The white surface was no longer white, streaked with red and a darker maroon color, she realized that the back of her head must be torn open — when she touched it though, there was only a medium-sized, hard scab on the top of her skull. Breathing in deeply through her mouth, she automatically tasted copper — blood. Feeling ill, she gagged a little before holding any bile back and getting up from the tub.

That's when she saw Sam. He was sitting on the toilet, top down of course, and his head was rested on the wall beside him. How long had he been sitting there, waiting for her to wake up? Feeling extremely guilty, she gulped down was little saliva she had and stepped out of the tub — her muscles complaining. She padded up to him and lightly placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake gently.

"Sam. Sam! Samuel McDonald, wake up!" the slender brunette whispered, not wanting to jolt the young man too much. One of Sam's eyes flitted open, bleary and confused. It closed almost immediately upon opening, which frustrated the slender brunette, her solution was to shake him a bit harder, which caused him to jolt awake. A sharp groan issued from between his lips and Brigitte regretted waking him so roughly.

"B-Bee? You're awake?" he mumbled, still muddled from sleep. He groaned again as he shifted from his seat, he was sure to be stiffer than even her. Her dark eyes ran over him as she listened to various joints pop as he attempted to stretch — _like a cat_ she thought with a tiny smile on her face. It immediately dropped as her eyes wandered back to the tub, and the blood that came from her.

"Sam, what the fuck happened?" She breathed, fear tingeing her voice and invading her eyes. Her hand went up to the back of her head and she felt the scab, proof that the so-called cure really had had an adverse reaction.

"It seems your body reacted to the Monkshood rather badly, it sent all of your systems into shock and you lost control of your motor skills — hence why you immediately fell upon injecting it into your bloodstream. But it might just be a normal reaction, it _was _a mild poison after all. Bee, how do you feel?" Bee blinked, it was the first — well, second — time Sam had ever sounded so smart in front of her, and she had been mesmerized. Why in the world had he decided to be a drug dealer of all things?

Clearing her throat, she shook her head. "Well, besides the fact that I got a new battle wound to add to my collection on the back of my head, I'd say I feel fine." the brunette raised her arm up to her eyes and noted with relief that the small hairs on her arms had turned back to their normal black color. "No, better than fine actually, fantastic! Sam, it worked!" giddily, she explained how they had been a golden blonde before. Sam instantly brightened, his hazel eyes glinting with something alike to excitement as he looked up at her.

"The cure worked… Brigitte, do you know what this means?" he asked her, his face happier than she had ever seen it. Shaking her head, she looked away — she couldn't bear to tell him that the effects were more than likely not permanent. She felt a pair of hands grasp her upper arms gently, she looked up at him again. "We're saved, Bee. We're saved," pulling her into a tight hug, she winced at his words. They were, in reality, far from being saved. These thoughts didn't let the slender brunette enjoy the warm hug that Sam was giving her.

"Sam, I think we should finish brewing the rest of the pot, then I think I'm going to go take a shower," she said, pulling away from the male and leaving the bathroom — leaving a confused Sam behind. Brigitte made her way to the kitchen and stared at the pot full of the violet liquid, the sinking feeling in her stomach returning. The cure probably wasn't a cure at all, just something to delay the transformation. But then again, there was the slight chance that she was in fact, wrong and it _was_ actually permanent and Sam and her could go on and have a perfect, beautiful happy ending. Bee scoffed at her own blind optimism — a life full of werewolves doesn't end in a happy ending.

"Let's get started on this! I still have to take it," Sam said happily as he entered the kitchen, rubbing his hands together.

"Right," Bee mumbled, her arms wrapped around her as she watched Sam get to work.

"Hand me the syringe, Bee," Sam's voice sounded strained as he tried to not to spill the violet liquid, a cotton ball floated in among the crushed flower petals. The young girl gave an unnecessary nod before handing him the syringe, she was scared about what would happen to Sam once he took the Monkshood. What if his reaction was worse than hers? She bit her lower lip gently as he gently pressed the syringe up the cotton ball, the liquid swishing away dangerously.

"Alright," he said, flicking the now full syringe. "Let me just get ready…" he stalked off with Brigitte close at his heels.

"'Get ready'? what do you mean?" she asked, following him back to the bathroom, where he got one of the complimentary toothbrushes that leaned against the sink.

"I mean this," he said as he seated himself on the bed, tied his arm and put the handle of the toothbrush in his mouth, clenching his teeth tightly. _So he won't bite his tongue… _Bee thought as she felt the scabbing on her own tongue, the indents made by her teeth already healing. She winced as he injected himself, and almost at once, he fell on the bed, shaking and twitching — his breath coming in short gasps, like her own had been. She sat on her own bed and looked at the male as he finally passed out, the pain far too much to bear. _At least he didn't scream,_ she thought bitterly as she waited for him to wake up.

Feeling her eyes fluttering closed, she laid down on the bed gingerly, trying not to get blood on the sheets. Placing her face on her hands, still facing Sam, she felt herself get comfortable.

"_Everything is in vain, Bee. You know it is, no _'cure'_ is going to save you. You're doomed. You _and_ your pet cherry-hound. You both are, might as well embrace it like I did Bee. It makes the experience _fabulous_," _Ginger's voice came from behind her, a merely whisper against her ear, as Brigitte fell prey to sleep, a frown deeply settled on her pretty face because, deep inside, she knew Ginge was absolutely right.

* * *

**So, I'm not happy with this chapter. It was really hard to write, for some reason, and once I did get it out, it doesn't satisfy me. At all. But I do tend to be my own harshest and hardest critic, so I really do hope that you guys enjoy this chapter much more than I did. :D I actually updated much faster than I expected, within two weeks! I'm so proud of myself, I didn't procrastinate too much this time. Now, I said I was going to mention all of the people who reviewed so here they are! :D I'm also going to respond to the ones that I think need a response. ;D**

**cclee123;;** Thank you so much for taking the time to review this twice! I'm happy I keep the characters IC, I was so scared that I was going to falter in that regard and fail completely. You don't know how much that means to me. & Why yes, Sam is fucking handsome, I'd thought I'd do that as much justice as I could. ;D  
**thfhdg;;** I know, I know. D: But I'm trying to keep myself to a schedule now, I promise.  
**VampireKa-Lyrra;;** Wow, I'm so flattered that my story has become one of your new drugs! XD I really should find an antidote, especially for cases like yours. ;D  
**Jaden - Cyber Incision;; **Erk! I really hope I don't disappoint! o.o

**And definite thanks to everyone else who reviewed! ;; lynsay, StarswordIsCool and o0FLAM3S0o! Thank you so much for taking the time to review and make my days just a little brighter~  
And just remember, reviews are much appreciated, loved, cared for, nurtured, fattened up, then slaughtered.  
... no wait, discard that last one, that never happens. Ever.  
-Much love, Savi. **


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